You think you're Mr Knowitall?
by nataliet9
Summary: A dream Sherlock has of Irene. It is a story of how his own mind is trying to subconsciously make him realize what he really feels for her, in the shape&voice of Ms. Adler herself. One-shot.


**Hello! :) I had the idea of writing this one shot as a side story to A Dangerous Game, but it could be read separately; it fits just before the end of the 8th chapter. I thought it would be funny to see how Sherlock's own mind is teasing him :) The title is from a song by Sophie Ellis Bextor - Get over you, that fits their story perfectly in my opinion. I don't own any of the characters.**

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Sherlock found himself in a strange place, unlike any place he had been in before. It was some kind of chamber, at least ten meters high, probably built inside a cave, as far as he could deduce from only a glimpse. A line of thick, stone pillars spread on both his left and right hand side. Each pair of pillars extended into an arch on the high chamber ceiling, forming a symmetrical line. He couldn't even see the end of the line of arches, which spread itself out into the darkness on both sides. On the walls behind the pillars he saw big windows, made in gothic style, with geometrical decoration patterns. Through these windows he saw the clear night starry sky, as ideal as it could be. The dim lighting in this grand chamber came from the candles in the very many crystal chandeliers above him.

Upon examining his current location, his clothes caught his attention next. He was wearing a black, vintage suit with a west, something more in Mycroft's style then in his own. On his shoulders was a long, worn out, black cape through which the suit collar could be seen, because it was naturally turned up. In total, he looked like a character from an old fairytale.

He touched his face, only to discover he had a mask on; one with rich decorations, his fingers sensing the pattern of it.

This didn't seem right to Sherlock, the servant of cold logic. Not right at all.

"I must be dreaming." He said to himself, trying to calm his nerves.

"You are right, Mr. Holmes. Since it's only a dream, why don't we make the best of it?"

He turned in the direction of the very well known voice to find that none other than The Woman appeared behind one of the thick pillars.

Her hair was up in her usual dominatrix style, exactly like when they first met. The upper part of her face was covered with a mask as well, hers in the color of old gold; and her red lips parted to form a flirtatious smile. She wore a red dress, but not a modern one, like she usually wore; no, this dress was an old-fashioned ball gown, strapless with unattached tight sleeves in the same blood red color as her lips. The upper part of the dress followed her figure flawlessly, while the down part expanded and formed gathers all the way to the floor. Another uncharacteristic thing about her bizarre appearance was a vintage necklace with a small golden mobile phone hanging from it.

"What are you doing in my dream?" Sherlock asked, half annoyed, but half curious.

"It's your dream, you tell me." Said Irene, while approaching him slowly. "Do you dream of me often?"She mischievously asked.

"Since you are a subconscious product of my thoughts, you should know the answer to questions like that yourself."

"And clearly I do. All those thoughts about me had to escape somewhere; dreams are the perfect getaway place for things you would so eagerly hide."

"This conversation is pointless." Sherlock pointed out."It is a monologue of my sleeping self in the form of a dialogue."

"You're quite right Mr. Holmes...let's get down to business." She said, and since there are no rules of physics in dreams, before he knew it, she was invading his personal space far too much for his taste.

"I...I..."he stuttered, unaccustomed to having her so near.

"Oh don't be alarmed, it's just a dream." she said, smiling in a disarming manner.

"Why are you pulling the strings in my dream?" he said, moving slightly backwards. "You have to be the dominating party, even in such circumstances."

"Does that alarm you? Or do you secretly enjoy it? Your own brilliant mind is giving you a hint of what you really want in the shape of me, pulling the strings. Are you really such a coward that you can't admit what you feel even to yourself?"

He turned around and started walking up and down the hall, as if he suddenly became interested in studying the architecture of his dream palace.

"Oh, nice way of deflecting indeed." She said in an irritated manner and rolled her eyes. "If I want to talk about it, you want to talk about it, that's how it works."

"It's my dream; I'd rather deduce this strange situation."

"As you wish...but, you wouldn't mind me dancing while we talk?"

Sherlock somehow ended up sitting on a chair within the second, while Irene's ball gown transformed into something far more...comfortable. It seems Sherlock fancied Irene in red somewhere deep down, since she wore a costume in the very color; her torso was tightened in a lace corset and she wore a long skirt of some kind, one that was opened from her hips downwards, through which her black stockings could be seen.

"I didn't ask for this." Sherlock justified himself as The Woman started to dance around him. She was as dexterous as he always imagined her to be; she twisted and turned around him, teasing him in every way that came up her mind, or his to be more precisely. It was nice being able to look at her without that being a sign of weakness, he had to admit; without anyone knowing more precisely. And she was certainly a sight for sore eyes.

"Yes, it is nice, having a private show, just for yourself." She stated it, the moment he thought about it.

"I didn't say anyth... Why can you read my mind?" he said with a mixture of discomfort and slight shame.

"Our mind darling, our mind." she said, putting her index finger over his lips, as an instruction for him to stop talking. As she fell into his lap, putting her left arm around his neck, making him shiver while she gently scratched the skin of his neck, she said: "Well then, deduce. Or did I change your mind about the scenario of this dream? How about something more in the intrigue genre, crime's overrated."

He did his best to ignore her, or better said, to ignore the other part of him.

"All right, I'll start" said Irene in an annoyed tone, "since you're so uncooperative. "We are both wearing masks. Do I need to explain this to you at all, or are you getting it?"

"Don't behave like I'm John."

"Then don't act like him."

Sherlock turned his head away but she wouldn't allow it, so she took him by the chin and turned his head towards her; he looked up at her eyes in protest but she just smiled and leaned towards him to kiss him.

"This will not be that kind of dream." He warned her, while she started playing with the rich curls of his hair.

"Why? You know you like those dreams." She winked, but then she continued speaking in an annoyed manner: "Don't you find this situation absurd? We are obviously opposite sides of your personality, thus this divergence in our attitudes. Mine is much more fun, by the way."

"So, masks. Obviously it's a symbol of the way we always communicate. No matter how close or alone we are in this case, the masks stay on. Defense mechanism would be the most accurate diagnosis." Sherlock deflected.

"Correct." She said, while playing with the buttons of his shirt."Your cape is next in the deduction line. I wonder who normally wears capes. But of course, heroes do! The shoes you never wanted to fill in, the good guy. It is much easier being the neutral guy, because it isn't an obligation that way; it is not your duty to save the world, you just often chose to do so. And in this way, if you chose not to, it wasn't your duty anyway. "

"Since we both know my success rate in solving crimes is quite high, so why would the cape be worn out; it should be new and shinny, like Superman's?" said Sherlock, mocking her theory.

"Because you're tired of it. In this case, our case, you're tired of the games. You want to remove the cape and be a normal person, without the games. You must be getting old, sentiment is getting to you." She said, tossing the ball back into his court side.

"You make a valuable debate partner; I usually have dialogues like this with myself, but we admire each other too much; you on the other hand provide the enough amount of disturbance to keep me focused. And our old fashioned clothes would imply our old but still present relation, or the romantic nature of it, given my gentleman and your ladylike couture?"

"Mr. Holmes, we make quite the team. Pity that we only succeed in cooperating inside your head."

"It's the price with genius; it needs the right conditions to bloom in."

"Oh shut up, you're disgusting yourself with your egocentricity." She smiled." So, now that we covered the basis of why we are here in the form in which we are, how about you lean in to my side of our brain? Come one, you could lose control to yourself at least. "

And the situation changed again, as one of Sherlock's arms was tightly wrapped around the waist of the woman, while the fingers of his other hand formed a tight knot with her fingers. Her lips were gently pressed to his neck artery, as if she was checking his pulse, just to confirm what she already knew. He decided to ignore his first impulse, to step back, since as she kindly pointed out, it was just a harmless dream. She kissed her way up to his lips, and he decided to kiss her back, just for the sake of an experiment.

"You've found your match, she said, looking at him with dreamy eyes." As they were swaying further into the darkness, holding each other tight.

"It could be premature to conclude that, don't you think?" he teased her, but he knew he was hooked. He knew it from the first moment, but he would rather die than admit it; this was a once upon a dream time opportunity.

"Oh, you always think you're Mr. Know-it-all, don't you?" she asked, and pressed her lips against his once again, wiping his smirk away, not giving him time to reply.

After that, he took initiative. He ran his fingers up and down her back while his other hand was playing with her hair as their kisses became more passionate; as they were giving in to his most secret desire.

She pulled back to observe him and with a stubborn expression she said: "Admit it. Admit that I am here not only as a random dream; admit that I've become a part of you. A permanent part." She had to hear him say it.

He smiled to her, in a genuine way, from the bottom of his heart. "Since it's just me in here...I admit it. I've found my match."

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**Thanks for reading! :) If you want, leave me a review, it would make me very happy :)**


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